Cyan
by XxEviexX
Summary: Wilson buys a lovely new tie. What happens when House notices Cameron noticing it? Pure Hameron fluff, rated T for some mild sexual situations.


_Fun Hameron? Yay! For Nikki. And Lee, my wifey, since she just came back to me. ^_^_

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**//Cyan\\**

I walk out of the elevator onto the busy floor. I'm slightly late for my shift, but doubt it will be a problem—after all, its not likely that we've received a case since my late departure yesterday. And it's not like House will care, anyway—he's never on time himself.

"Good morning, Doctor Cameron," I'm greeted by Doctor Wilson. I plan to say good morning and move on, but the tie he wears catches my eye.

"Hello, Doctor Wilson. That's a _really_ lovely tie," I compliment, examining it. It is a rich royal blue, intermittently stripped with bright cyan at irregular intervals. The lighter blue particularly strikes me as a beautiful color.

Wilson looks delighted at my notice—he's obviously quite proud of it. "Thank you, Cameron," he says to me, beaming.

"New?" I inquire, smiling back.

"Brand new. I bought it this weekend."

I am about to ask where, but I never get the chance.

"Cameron!" House yells from four feet behind me, causing me to jump.

I turn to look at him. "Hello, House," I say wearily to the doctor famed for both his brilliance and lack of manners. His cane thumps on the floor as he comes nearer, finally close enough to tower over me. I can smell his cologne…

"Are you finished drooling over Wilson's fashion sense?" he asks me.

"I… uh, yes," I stammer. He's way too close. Realizing that I sound like an idiot, I hold my head high, trying to regain some dignity. Of course, this causes my face to meet his—eye to eye, green to blue. His eyebrow is cocked in that annoyingly superior way of his.

I don't allow any of my internal scrambling to show on my face. Then again, maybe I do. Why can't he wipe that irritatingly _knowing_ half-smile from off his face…?

"Go do something useful," he tells me without further ado. He gazes down at my face for another few seconds, and suddenly turns away from me.

Thumping over to Wilson, I see him examining the tie.

Wilson, in turn, eyes us back and forth with an expression almost as annoyingly knowing as his best friend's.

So it's one of _those_ days.

--

_A week later_.

It's late. I've stayed longer than my requirements, as usual. A bit odd, seeing as I don't usually have much to keep me busy. House takes on a case about once a week. I guess I just don't like the emptiness of my apartment. Or maybe I just like the hospital.

My pager goes off just as I am ready to go. House wants to see me. Weird, I haven't seen him all day.

I gather my things, resolving to leave directly after the meeting.

Wondering what he could want, I make my way to his office. I see him illuminated by a lamp at his desk through the glass panels enclosing the small room.

He pretends not to notice when I walk in, closing the door behind me.

"You wanted me, House?" I say, announcing my arrival.

"That's an interesting choice of words, Cameron," he replies, finally looking up.

I feel the heat rising in my face, alerting me to my blush. I refuse to look down, instead stubbornly gazing at him with a hard expression. "You know what I meant," I accuse.

"So what if I did?" he counters with that maddening half-smile.

Embarrassment wins over this time; I glance down.

The contrast between the dark tie and light shirt catches my eye. I recognize it as the new tie I complemented Wilson on last week. I again take in the gracefully haphazard way that the cyan lines run across the darker blue background. A sudden thought strikes me.

I slowly look up from the tie to his face. To his eyes. I need not glance back down to confirm that both are the exact same shade of bright blue. I internally groan. No wonder I noticed the color!

He notices my recognition.

"Nice tie," I comment dryly.

He looks at me again with that infuriating smile, walking around the desk.

"Aren't you the most fashion-conscious duckling," he states, coming ever nearer.

Against my wishes, my pulse begins to pick up its pace with every step he takes. Soon he's as close as he was last week, the first time I saw the tie currently hanging from my boss's neck. He wears the same cologne, as well; I know the scent.

"Tell me, Cameron," he says, looking at me with a teasing glint in his stunning cyan eyes. He takes another step closer—our bodies are almost pressed together now. The deprivation of oxygen due to my shallow breathing blocks out everything but the person in front of me.

"Yes?" I say, trying (and failing) to keep the breathlessness out of my voice.

"Wilson, you see, disagrees with my opinion that this tie looks much better on me," he says.

I don't answer.

He looks at me expectantly, and when I continue to refuse to answer him, he steps closer until our bodies really _are_ pressed against each other. I concentrate on not hyperventilating while taking a reluctant step back.

"House, stop this," I command weakly, looking up into his ridiculously deep eyes. This doesn't help with my concentration.

He ignores me, again closing the distance between our torsos. "Answer me," he orders with rather more force.

My willpower doesn't extend to stepping back a second time. Instead, I continue gazing at him. "No," I respond. "And I don't plan to."

Briefly, annoyance flashes across his face. It soon disappears, however, being replaced by a mischievous countenance. "So you refuse to answer my question?"

I nod. He responds with suddenly slipping his arm around my waist.

"House!" I exclaim, alarmed at his brazen attitude. Where's his usual apathy towards me? The cold lack of interest?

"I'm betting I could get you to answer me," he says wickedly.

My heart pounds furiously. I refuse to think of the methods he will employ in order to force my answer. Though, of course, taking in his obvious close proximity and that arm around my waist, I have no doubt in my mind what said methods will be. That's not to say that I don't try to ignore my logic. What's the point of getting my hopes up if it isn't the case?

Not that I should _have_ any hopes. But I'm not successful enough in lying to myself for that deception.

I decide to cave in. After all, it's a simple question. It won't hurt to answer. "It does," I say finally.

"What does?" he asks. After all, I've answered out of the blue.

"The tie. Looks good. On you, I mean." Now I really sound like an idiot.

Even though I've answered, he does not change his position. Instead, he continues to look at my face as he says, "I'm disappointed in you, Cameron."

Good lord, he's impossible! I do what he wants, and he's _disappointed_?

He sees my indignation. "You see, I expected you to cave in only until _after_ I forced you to."

This doesn't ease my irritation; it fuels it, if anything. How very _House_ to manipulate me before even trying.

I see him mulling over an idea in his mind, an idea he's probably been playing with for a while. Suddenly, his face changes. It is no longer contemplative, but determined. It seems that he's come to a decision. If possible, my heart beats faster, knowing his choice will somehow involve me.

"You see," he says, dropping his cane and trailing his hand up my side to the back of my neck, resting it lightly. I can't move, can't think, can't _breathe_. What in the world is this man doing to me?

Since you've obviously already answered my question," he continues his thought, "I can't justify this anymore."

I don't need to ask exactly what '_this'_ is. His eyes—those beautiful cyan eyes—move away from mine, down to my lips. They rest there for a moment, and he locks his gaze with mine once again.

I expect him to move slowly, to heighten the suspense. To follow through with his teasing game until the very end.

In the miniscule amount of time it takes me to expect his approach, I also unconsciously prepare for it. Which is why what actually happens takes me by surprise. Without another thought, the hand on my neck becomes hard. He pulls my face to his, and our lips meet roughly. My preparation shatters, my body responding with the pent up desire I have been suppressing for far too long.

My arms snake around his strong, lean form and move up to clamp around his shoulders, all the while our lips move in exhilarating patterns, our tongues dance to rhythms dictated by our irregular pulses.

The hand around my neck drops and joins the other on my waist. He greedily feels down to my hips, rubbing the contours of my curves. Our mouths break apart, lungs screaming for oxygen. He immediately trails his lips down my throat—I feel the hot, uneven breath and the roughness of his stubble.

"Oh, God, House," I gasp, my hands slipping down to feel his chest. He grunts and abandons my neck, his lips locking with mine again.

We're on fire. Our mouths move hungrily, our hands explore unchecked and unrestrained. He pushes me against his desk with surprising force, driving the crazy level of lust up several notches. I prop myself up on the desk, causing papers to scatter onto the floor. Neither of us care. Resting my weight on the table beneath me, I wind my legs around his waist. He groans deep in his throat, but the sound is of pleasure and not pain—if he's in pain, he damn well hides it.

He moves rough hands up my thighs, up my hips, up my waist, up my rib cage, barely lingering on my breasts. Reaching his goal, he quickly begins to unbutton my blouse. Without hesitation, I reach my hands to undo the fateful tie.

I almost finish when suddenly—

"House, I was wondering…" Doctor Wilson looks up from the files in his hands, finally seeing the shameless almost-lovemaking he's interrupted. "Oh," he says awkwardly.

I can feel myself blushing a very deep scarlet as Wilson eyes my half-unbuttoned top and House's almost-undone tie. No, _his_ almost-undone tie.

"House!" he exclaims when he recognizes it. "I was looking for that every—"

"Get out," House commands.

"But—"

"Out!"

"Fine," he concedes. "But I want my tie back, and washed if need be."

House takes a hand off of me and slips the tie over his head. He proceeds to throw it at Wilson's face. "Wash your own tie."

Wilson leaves. House turns back to me. "Where were we?"

_-----_

_Ten thousand thanks to Nikki (firexatxwill) for giving me the inspiration for this. She gave me the prompt '__Hmmm . . . -smirks- Give me a short oneshot using the line, from Wilson, "I want my tie back, and washed if need be."' Well, it's not exactly short, but hey! _


End file.
